


this will be a night long remembered

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Huxloween 2019 [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Armitage Hux, Drunk Sex, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Masks, Partying, Penis Size, Size Kink, Top Kylo Ren, frat party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux usually spends the weekend before Halloween with his nose buried in his textbooks and lecture notes, studying for his midterms, the urge to get laid the furthest thing from his mind.But this year, Phasma has dragged him to the biggest frat party of the season, and all it takes is a stranger in a Darth Vader costume to totally change Hux's romantic prospects forever.





	this will be a night long remembered

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another silly idea that sprung from me thinking about Kylo going to a party in a Darth Vader costume. 
> 
> Belated prompt for Huxloween Day 6: "Make-up, Wigs, and Disguises."
> 
> Now featuring art by the lovely [hurtkylo](https://twitter.com/hurtkylo) on Twitter!

Hux is not the kind of person who likes to go to parties. Least of all on the weekend before midterms, when he should be home putting the finishing touches on his essays and reviewing lecture notes so he can ace his exams with ease. Sure, Sigma Chi’s annual Halloween bacchanal is a big deal for some, but Hux has better things to do than drink cheap beer and endure the obnoxious, drunken behavior of dozens of his peers who are content to slum it on the lowest rung of both intelligence and personal hygiene. 

And yet here he stands, awkwardly sheltering against one of the hallways in the frat house, red Solo cup gripped in hand and ears ringing with the overloud music and chanting from the backyard, where presumably another inebriated lout with an undeclared major and zero real prospects in life is trying his hand at a keg stand. Briefly, he scans the crowd for Phasma, but, failing to catch sight of that teased shock of platinum blond hair amidst the strobing multicolor lights, takes another sip of beer to steady his nerves and temper his irritation. 

Damn her. It had been all Phasma’s idea to come here in the first place, and she didn’t even have the decency to stick by his side after not only dragging him to this party, but also insisting that he adhere to the theme and _ dress up_.

“Absolutely not,” Hux remembers saying earlier in the day, when Phasma had first proposed they attend the party in costume. “Isn’t it enough torture that I’m going with you to this stupid thing? I have to wear some ridiculous getup too?” He’d been determined not to degrade himself by throwing on a lazy, last-minute outfit, preferring to stick to his usual slacks and button-down shirt. 

And yet, Phasma had a habit of getting her way. They’d been close ever since orientation, where she’d bucked the stereotype Hux had of freshmen athletes coasting on their full-ride scholarships. Phasma was a champion lacrosse player but no blithering meathead; in fact, she was fiercely intelligent, raised with a military upbringing much like Hux was, and he’d come to greatly appreciate her insight when it came to many of his own studies in the realm of engineering. But as his closest friend and confidant, she was also one of the few people who could bend Hux’s steely convictions to her own will. 

So while he’d put up resistance and disgust when she’d procured a pair of cat ears and fluffy tail from her closet, it hadn’t taken much more convincing for him to put them on and allow her to draw a pair of whiskers and a little black nose on his face with nubby eyeliner pencil. 

“Looking good,” she’d said, smirking and tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, “you’re gonna be somebody’s bad luck tonight, Armie.”

Apparently, she thought the impromptu black cat costume would help get him laid. But right now, Hux feels like the only person suffering bad luck is himself. Around him, the party drags on and on, continuing to be nothing but an unpleasant experience. Even standing here alone puts him on edge. The air inside of the frat is warm and stuffy with secondhand sweatiness, thanks to all the bodies squeezing past him and occasionally jamming an elbow in his direction or knocking his cup from his hands. His eyebrows pin together in annoyance as yet another drunken couple nearly runs into him as they amble down the hallway, the cheap beer souring in his stomach. Honestly, he’s about ready to cut and run, even if it means leaving Phasma to stumble back to their dorm on her own. It would serve her right for abandoning him, after all. Hux sighs, pushing off from the wall, about to turn around the corner and make a beeline for the door, when someone suddenly steps out into his way. 

“W-Watch it!” Hux bristles as he rebounds off the man’s chest, nearly losing his balance and spilling the remainder of his beer all at once. He looks up with a scowl, intent on berating this presumably drunk idiot further for not watching where he’s going, but the complaint falters on his lips once he realizes what exactly he’s looking at. 

The man is dressed in an honest-to-God, full-body Darth Vader costume. Helmet, cape, boots, and all. He even has what looks like a very nice lightsaber replica clipped to his belt. 

As Hux gapes, he hears a click, followed by the characteristic hiss of air. “Sorry about that,” the man drones through his mask, voice obviously altered by some kind of audio filter. It’s one of the most recognizable voices in all of popular culture, and one Hux has heard a thousand times over the years—so the interested shiver it sends down his spine is wholly unexpected and a little alarming. Flustered, he tries to chalk it up to the fact that, even through the costume, he can tell the man is broad and tall and built like a tank—in short, Hux’s usual type. 

Yes. That must be it. It has nothing to do with the costume. 

“Uh. Are you alright?” The man asks again in that same deep voice, causing Hux to snap out of it. He nods vigorously, Solo cup crinkling in his hand. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry. This is just—_ very _ impressive.” Hux gestures to the man’s costume, then vaguely at the crowd around them. “You’re a real cut above the rest here, most everyone else seems content to slap on a pair of animal ears and a skimpy outfit and call it a day.”

Hux winces a bit when he realizes that’s exactly what he’s doing, but the man doesn’t seem to care about how lazy his costume is. A satisfied laugh crackles through his voice changer. 

“You really think it’s impressive?” The man spreads his arms out, cape flowing off his shoulders, showing off the full extent of his costume beneath it—plus more of that physique that’s making Hux salivate and squirm on the inside. 

“Oh, absolutely.” Hux moves his hands in the air in front of the man’s chest in a circular motion, imagining himself giving it a squeeze yet trying to resist reaching out and touching him properly. “This is like..._professional _quality.”

“It’s 501st Legion accurate,” the man explains, and even though Hux has no idea what that means he nods along and makes an impressed noise in the back of his throat. The man preens at the attention, straightening up. “Do you want to see my lightsaber?”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Hux snickers a little at the implied innuendo, taking another, longer sip of his beer as the man brandishes the prop pinned to his belt. Without missing a beat he strikes a dynamic pose, nearly knocking into another partygoer walking by. Hux pays their affronted, glazed glare little mind, distracted by the blaze of bright red as the man’s lightsaber flares into life. He lets out a genuinely impressed little “_ooh_” and lightly claps his hands. The man waves the prop around a couple of times to show off the light and sound effects, before he shuts it off and stows it back into his belt with a deft flourish.

“Bravo, bravo,” Hux whistles, tongue clumsy in his mouth, vision spotting a bit from the brightness of the saber and the effect of the beer finally hitting him full force. The stuff might be cheap and thin as piss, but it sure gets the job done, doesn’t it? “You’ve had a lot of practice with that thing.”

The man shrugs his large shoulders. “I know my way around a lightsaber.”

“_Mmm_, do you now?” Hux says without thinking, but he feels too light and flirty for it to bother him, so much so that he actually _ winks _ at the man. At Darth Vader. Heavens above, he’s lost all his dignity, hasn’t he? Hux should feel aghast at his own behavior, but he just bats his eyelids in quick succession and quirks his lips in a coquettish smile at odds with his usual stern face, hoping the night will take a turn for the interesting. 

And to Hux’s delight, the man seems to pick up on his suggestiveness. He freezes, totally still for a moment in consideration, before he advances upon Hux. 

He realizes that the man is only a couple more inches taller than him, but suddenly Hux feels incredibly small, in the best way possible. He crunches the now empty Solo cup in his fist, the other hand coming up to brace against the man’s chest. Hux can’t resist feeling him up a little bit, fingers stroking over the dense, flexing pectoral beneath the fabric of his tunic. 

“Yeah, I do,” the man lowly grits out through the mask, “do you want to get a closer look at it, little kitty?”

Hux had almost forgotten about the cat ears perched on his head, but when the man’s broad hand fondles the soft fur his knees go weak. He nods, swallowing around the dry lump in his throat, heart beating a mile a minute. The Solo cup drops from his number fingers, soaking the last drops of beer into the already stained carpet. Whatever. The place is a total pigstye anyway. 

Now, with both of his hands free, Hux grips onto the shoulders of the man’s cloak and pulls him in closer. “Let’s go somewhere more private first,” he whispers, thumbing the cloak’s sleek leather as he presses their bodies together, chest to chest. He can feel the man’s heartbeat pick up, to match Hux’s own excited thrum. 

Despite his inebriated state and the man’s relatively cumbersome costume, they manage to make their way up the stairs to the second floor of the frat house. Hux has no idea about the etiquette about fucking at these kinds of parties, whether it’s totally cool to just barge into one of these rooms and go to town, but thankfully he doesn’t have to think too hard about it, because Vader takes charge, dragging him by the wrist into one of the closest rooms. It turns out to be occupied by a half-naked jock in a shabby Captain America costume and what Hux blearily pegs as some kind of sexy jack-o’-lantern, by the novelty pumpkin sweater and knee-high orange go-go boots, but both of them turn tail and flee, tugging up shorts and adjusting bra straps once Vader commands they get out in a booming, ominous tone that goes right to Hux’s dick. 

Once alone, Vader releases his hand, leaving Hux standing in the middle of the room as he makes his way over to the rumpled bed, not bothering to smooth it out or check whether its previous occupants had left anything behind before he sits down. His thighs spread, boots planted firmly on the floor as Vader leans back slowly, to show off the full length of his body like he’s posing for a picture. As if Hux isn’t already smitten by his size—or at least what he can see of it. Though he doesn’t mind the lack of nudity. The costume really does add to the whole experience. 

Vader crooks a finger at him, then pats his upper thigh. “Come here,” he grunts. It comes out as a genuine order, which nearly makes Hux laugh all breathless and giddy. It’s ridiculous, the whole situation—almost like some kind of nerdy roleplay that he and Phasma would usually mock and deride as juvenile, but right now he’s a lot more into it than he would’ve ever expected. He doesn’t even particularly enjoy Star Wars, hasn’t seen the original movies in years, but something about this man’s swagger and confidence in the outfit is turning Hux on more than anything he’s seen in quite some time. 

He strides over so quickly he almost doesn’t feel the carpet beneath his feet, falling to his knees in front of Vader as he starts to rub his bulge through his costume pants. Hux eyes it with increasing interest as he feels it harden beneath his fingers—_fuck_. If his cock is just as big as the rest of him, then Hux is going to lose it, and by “it” he means the last scrap of dignity he’s still desperately clinging on to. No one but Phasma knows of his obsession with massive cocks that look and feel like they could split him wide open, and even she would’ve been kept in the dark if not for one night in sophomore year when the perfect storm of lonely and horny and drunk prompted him to admit a lot more about himself than he ever thought he would. But yeah. Deep down, he loves big, thick cocks, and Vader’s cock here feels like the biggest and thickest one Hux’s got his hands on in a while. 

“Let’s see how good you are with your mouth, kitty,” the man says as his hand cups the back of Hux’s head, encouraging him to lean in closer. Hux follows the pressure of his palm eagerly, fingers trailing up Vader’s clothed thighs to where they meet his crotch. It takes him a moment to figure out how to unclasp the fly of the costume pants, fingers clumsy and brain slowed to a crawl by the beer. Finally, with a couple mumbled swears, he manages to get them undone, taking only a brief second to marvel at the man’s dedication as evidenced by the Darth Vader printed-boxers he has on, before peeling them away to let his cock spring free.

Hux, in his already tenuous, edged state, almost passes out on the spot as the thick shaft bobs before his eyes, fully hardened. Fuck. _Fuck_. It’s even bigger than he imagined, purple-red and leaking at the tip and nearly as thick as the haft of the man’s prop lightsaber. As Hux leans in closer, he smells a mixture of low-cost cologne and sweat, not the best combination but an unsurprising one. All those layers of clothing must be hot, but Hux doesn’t want him to take off the costume, and Vader doesn’t move to strip anything else off, only adjusting his pants on his hips so the full length of his cock and heavy balls can come loose. Still, the motion treats Hux to a little more of the man’s bare flesh, and he spies the bottom quarter of a muscular belly and a pair of angled hipbones sporting cute dustings of dark moles. 

But right now that proud cock commands most of his attention. Hux wastes little time getting his mouth on it, and with Vader’s low and staticky encouragement in his ears, he takes it all the way to the hilt on the first try. The girth stretches his lips out and presses his tongue to the floor of his mouth, but Hux is no bumbling, drunken virgin who balks and gags at a bit of a challenge. He breathes evenly through his nose, hollowing his cheeks and giving the cock in his mouth a long, indulgent suck as he pulls off it, only to dive back in for more. 

A low chuckle rolls through Vader’s mask. “Easy...be careful...not to choke on your aspirations.” Hux squirms, pressing the heel of his free hand against his tenting crotch. _ Fuck_, this guy even knows all of the lines. He should probably be concerned that this is apparently awakening some long-buried Darth Vader fetish deep inside of him, but his mouth is too full of cock and his brain too fuzzy from the beer to care. 

“K-Keep talking,” Hux gasps, briefly pulling off the man’s length before sinking it back into his mouth again, this time pushing the head into the entrance of his throat. He hears the crunch of leather gloves as fingers dig into his hair, followed by another click and hiss of the voice changer. 

“Ah...impressive…_most _ impressive…”

Hux’s eyelids flutter closed as he moans around the cock, continuing to thrust it down his throat. He may be showing off a little bit, his barely extant gag reflex suppressed even further by the power of the alcohol and the degree of just how hot and horny he feels. Heavens help him, for some reason he desperately wants to impress Vader with his blow job skills, just as Vader had impressed him with the deft way he wielded that lightsaber. Something about the authority inherent within the man’s voice, his posture, his _ aura_, makes Hux want to do nothing but please him. 

Thankfully, the deft movements of Hux’s tongue combined with his desperate drunken enthusiasm seem to do the trick. Before long Vader’s hips jerk off the bed, burying his cock down Hux’s throat as he comes a flood. Hux slurps it all down, lips sealed around the thickness as to not let a single droplet escape. He’s breathing heavily by the time he finally pulls off, leaving Vader’s cock slicked with warm, frothy spit. He opens his eyes and looks up, vision swimming, but the sight of Vader looming over him—silhouetted against the dim light emanating from the party spilling into the backyard, with labored exhales hissing through the voice changer—sends a pleasured squeeze rippling his still-unattended cock. They’re nowhere near done yet. 

“God, fuck me with this, please,” Hux slurs as he crawls on top of Vader’s lap, thighs spread wide. His cock strains against the thin fabric of his shorts, begging for release as he grinds it against the panel on Vader’s abdomen. 

“Wait, I—I think I forgot to lock the door.” For a moment, boyish hesitation enters Vader’s voice, and he loses a bit of his grip on the confidence of his character. Hux just smirks, rolling his hips as he presses their body closer, not letting up. 

“Just use the Force,” he teases, flippant. “I mean, you’re a space wizard, aren’t you Lord Vader?” Hux doesn’t give him a moment to protest, looping his arms around Vader’s neck and leaning in to kiss the grill-like “mouth” of the mask on impulse. Oddly, he doesn’t mind the neutral taste of the plastic, especially not when Vader regains his confidence and tugs down Hux’s shorts in one swift, rough movement, letting them hang snugly beneath the curve of his ass. Vader eagerly gropes him, drawing a low and shaky moan out of Hux’s throat as the textured leather of the gloves digs into his sensitive skin. 

Now that he’s gotten up close and personal with the size of Vader’s cock, Hux finds himself feeling grateful for the tube of lube Phasma had coyly snuck into his back pocket before they’d left for the party. He would hate to disappoint Vader and himself by backing out right when things were about to get good, but he’s really going to need proper prep to take his magnificent cock. He hands it off to Vader, before taking off one of the man’s leather gloves with his teeth. Bare, meaty fingers (fuck, even his _ hands _ are huge) find the crease between Hux’s asscheeks, leaving trails of slick lube against his skin as he feeling around for his hole. Hux rolls a groan through his throat, hands braced on Vader’s broad shoulders, ready to ride him until it hopefully felt like they were both shooting through hyperspace. 

At the very least, when that fat cock sinks all the way home into Hux’s ass, he definitely ends up seeing stars. 

* * *

Months later, and Hux’s nearly forgotten all about the little tryst at the Halloween party, mostly due to the influence of the alcohol, but defensive embarrassment had also played a major part in wiping it completely from his memory. Going with his better judgment, he’d refused to give Phasma any of the more sordid details, merely telling her that he’d hooked up with a masked stranger at the party, and leaving out the fact that it had been Darth Vader of all the costumed guests that had fucked him. He knew he would never hear the end of it from Phasma if he gave her the full story, so he’d kept the memory tightly locked up with the rest of his thankfully scant stockpile of humiliating college stories. 

He quickly moved on to more important things—his studies, extracurriculars, organizing events for his business fraternity. The months passed quickly, and before long the semester was already winding down. With finals just around the corner, Hux is busy—both with his own studying, and his side-job as a tutor for his less-gifted peers. 

Unfortunately, his current pupil serves as more of a distraction than anything else. 

Ben Organa-Solo doesn’t seem to realize how hard it is for Hux to resist jumping him every time they schedule a study session. It’s been months since Hux has been laid, and despite the fact that he’s usually able to push past his aching sexual urges and focus on his classwork, Ben’s presence makes it nearly impossible. He’s shy, almost to a fault, but his broad build and boyish, if slightly uneven good looks make him charming and absolutely irresistible. So it’s not surprising that Hux finally caves, midway through a tutoring session focused on Ben’s upcoming biology exam, deciding to claim those perfect stuttery pink lips for himself.

Ben squirms on the bed as Hux settles between his legs, palms braced on the backs of his broad thighs. He eyes Ben’s stiffening bulge before leaning forward to mouth it, drawing a weak moan out of Ben’s mouth.

“Armie…fuck, don’t stop.”

“I told you, don’t call me that. It’s _ Hux_,” he demands, hand snaking up to Ben’s crotch, snagging his zipper to open his pants. Hux has been salivating over what he can see of Ben’s cock for weeks—he’s dying to finally get his mouth wrapped around it. Maybe then, once it’s out of his system, they can both focus on studying. 

But when Hux finally gets his pants undone and his boxers shoved down his hips, he freezes in horror. 

It’s not that Ben’s cock isn’t impressive. It’s beautifully big, swollen red with need and leaking at the tip. It’s not the size or shape that shocks him.

It’s the fact that it’s achingly familiar, breaking the lock on Hux’s suppressed memories and sending him shooting through a flashback of bad beer and black fabric and the hiss and click of dirty talk and sci-fi jargon fed through a voice changer. For a moment, he’s transported back into that room at the frat house, tail pinned to his shorts and cat ears perched atop his head, looking down a massive cock sprouted from a bundle of black curls and accompanied by an unmistakable speckle of moles across the hips. 

“Holy fuck,” Hux can’t stop blurting out, lifting his widened eyes to stare at Ben. “You’re kidding me. _You _ were the Darth Vader?”

Ben props up on his elbows, looking sheepishly down the length of his body at Hux. After a moment of staring and silence, so long that Hux wonders if maybe he’s been mistaken and made a fool of himself, Ben reaches forward to trail his fingers underneath Hux’s chin, cupping it as an awkward, but sultry smile flits across his lips. 

“Just for once…” he murmurs, voice dipping with practiced ease into a low, crackly register, “let me look upon you with my own eyes…_kitty_...”

Hux lets out an incoherent shriek of shame and chucks a pillow at Ben’s head. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments! Let me know if you liked this ridiculous little fic, I would love to hear!
> 
> This is also my 100th Kylux fic, I can't believe I've made it haha. 
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


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